


Secours

by linnogosaur



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: APH England - Freeform, APH France - Freeform, FrUK, Historical, Lots of Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-29 07:39:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12626289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linnogosaur/pseuds/linnogosaur
Summary: Through the years, France and England have been everything two nations can be to each other, and the same goes for their human embodiments, only it can get even messier and more complicated than international politics when you factor in their personal relationship. This is a collection of times where, for whatever reason, they came to each other’s aid.





	1. Chapter 1

Secourse- French (n) meaning help.  
Au secourse- help me; secourse pour les malades- help for the sick 

Francis and Arthur’s relationship is older than the hills. In fact, they remember when some of those hills were seemingly unmovable mountains, just asking to be softened by time. There have been countless moments where the two nations have collided and done their damndest to destroy each other, but that was a long time ago now. Now they bicker and fuss but they also share beds and soft kisses, the way people who have loved each other for decades- or in their case centuries- do.

Of course, it hasn’t always been one of the two extremes. There have been moments where it’s both, or neither, or somewhere in between. These moments are suspended throughout history between fever dreams of war and crisis, these are moments that start with waking up dizzy, whole body aching, or a quiet knock on a front door. 

Moments like these, where pride is set on the back burner, are the moments that define them, in a way. Somehow, throughout history, it has always occurred to Arthur to come to Francis’s aid and vice versa, even if that is far from what their governments would have chosen to do. It hasn’t always been clear to them why, but when they need each other, time stands still.


	2. Better than Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! this is a bit dense with poorly explained historical references so I'll let y'all know now that this is set after the English War of Roses, or as it was known then, the cousins war. It was a long and slow civil war where two separate families claimed the throne and fought about it. It also happened to be caused in part by strain from the longer and slower hundred years war that England had just lost. After 100 years of land squabbles, and some mild martyrdom (This is where Joan of Arc comes from. France calls her Jeanne, her french name). Honfleur is a wonderful city in Normandy where the Seine meets with the English Channel, making it a fairly important port city at the time. 10/10 would recommend going there. Also, literally pardon my french. I'll always translate what I write but if I'm doing fruk, I really can't help myself. I'm that like that one kid who wants to win everything in gym class only with French class.If you're a native speaker and you see an error let a girl know. Enjoy!

For years, it seemed that all England had been able to taste was blood and his own bitter pride, but today it was even worse. In the small hours of the night, so late they could be considered morning, he sent a pleading letter out from the middle of a drunken haze. It was a letter he had been shamefully writing in his head for at least 20 years as everything crumbled around him. One would think that in the light of regret, he would remember every word, every point he had made but all he knew as he lay hungover on a stuffy mid-morning in July was that a letter had been sent and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

At the time, Francis was spending his summer on a wheat farm outside of Honfleur and going into town after morning chores every few days for correspondence, since even though being close to the people was a large part of his existence, he was still needed for government duties and the odd diplomatic trip. Like the trip to England he had been avoiding, since even after 30 years, he still couldn’t quite sort through the way he felt for the man he knew so well. Today, however, there was an odd letter waiting for him among the various updates and requests that were to be expected. It was a personal letter, lord knows how it had gotten to him but there it was, penned messily-drunkenly, no doubt- the very parchment smelling like memories. His first thought was to burn it, but he knew he never could, not when he couldn’t stand to put the thing down, so the only possible response was to find a quiet cafe like place to read it. And read it he did, despite the time it took to decipher the handwriting and even the language. In avoiding England, he had managed to lose a bit of his fluency, but he almost always understood what such an important man to him was saying.

You Absolute Cock Comb,   
I hope you have been enjoying your peace as I have had a pounding headache for decades now. Longer if you consider all those years I spent dealing with you. I’m sure that even if you’ve been hiding yourself on some farm instead of working or being useful to this world, you’ll know what’s happened since you left me humiliated. Or did I leave you humiliated? Bullocks! Who can remember anyway. You got your land back but you did not get your girl, in the end, now did you. She was so young. You may think I’m floating, and maybe I am. Maybe I can’t bring myself to care about you the way you care about everything and feel ill when anguish appears on your face. You are dead to me after all. And I to you. Perhaps, as a ghost, I could drift to whatever corner of that godforsaken country that surely wouldn’t have been worth the effort of conquering for a mere fortnight. Meaning I am going to pay you a visit. Damn it all! Feel free to kill me on sight so long as it stops this terrible headache but I am coming and will be there shortly. This isn’t your decision. I may not know who I answer to but I do know people who know your queen so I can make her make you do as I say and I say on with it! At the very least I can provide you with a swift punch to that pretty jaw of yours for what your silly landgrab did to my beautiful country. I mean really, if you hadn’t always been so protective of your sweet mainland I never would have been in this bloody mess. All this to say I will be there as soon as I can. Hate me if you must as the good Lord knows I hate you but I will not spend a moment longer in this alone. You’re stuck with me, Gaul and I am coming so wash yourself! Prepare your weapons! Summon vengeful gods of your Pagan past! Make that stew you always insist on giving me! Or some wild hare! Ready your bed! Or do nothing. Because my ghost will be there! And I will not tell you when. Now I must go as I feel ill. I wish you terrible fortune on you and all those you love  
signed,  
England/Arthur/Connard? Whatever it is I am to you

It was all France could do not to burst into hysterics right then and there among strangers. The letter was so prideful, so honest, so subtle yet so straight forward. It was so like Arthur. Once the shock of his words retreated, a new shock came like ocean waves. He missed all that, no, that’s a terrible way of saying it L’Angleterre se manquait would be more accurate. England was missing from him like a hole in his chest. Of course he missed his Jeanne and would need better amends than what has been offered up, but it had been so long since he’d simply spoken with his best friend without fighting, he couldn’t be anything but grateful to simply read his drunken ramblings. Maybe it would be centuries before they could forgive each other, maybe he wouldn’t even come, but maybe for a handful of summer days and nights, they could convince each other it didn’t matter.

Arthur never did show himself. Things were soon to get better for him and all he really needed to force himself for those last few weeks were the few words Francis had bothered to send back across the channel, in French, much to Arthur’s frustration  
Chère copain de mon enfance,  
Je cuisinerai ce que je veux pour toi.  
Viens,  
France  
(Dear friend from my childhood,  
I’ll cook what I want for you  
Come,  
France)


	3. Terroire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I smell revolution and being surprised by one's own unconditional love. Sounds like fruk tbh

Another century, another set of issues, and another war, and Arthur was yet again hesitant to visit France. Francis was, by all accounts, his worst enemy now. There’s no room for tenderness when you are fighting for control of the world after all. The last time he had seen his old friend he had been smirking as deviously as ever and ignoring his wishes joyfully. The time before that, Francis had no time to smirk before he shot him in the chest. Malice for the other power bubbled in his chest; the thought of what state he could possibly be in now felt like a block of lead in his stomach.  
The miserable cunt had been in a state of complete turmoil for years now and it was only getting worse. Sure, he may not have been helping what with the war and all but what was one supposed to do when their neighbor’s people abolished their monarchy and rioted in the streets? Basically, his hesitance upon being sent to find his fellow nation, who had been missing from any official function for at least a year now, was understandable. Nevertheless, the world would be boring without him. Besides, why should he care what state he was in. It was his own damn fault. Or at least that’s what he told himself  
In the end, it hadn’t been that hard to find him since people tend to keep tabs on prisoners who were seen stumbling around the streets within days of being guillotined. The only trouble was being allowed access to him in his cell. It was no use pretending to be french, his way of speaking came from the previous century and he never could hide his accent so he managed it by exploiting the chaos of the system that kept him and insisting that he was no friend of the prisoner. Once he got in, however, he immediately wished he hadn’t.  
Francis was huddled in the corner of his simple cell and flinched at the sound of the opening door. To say he was in bad shape would have been a gross understatement. Tremors wracked his body and that beautiful hair of his was caked in dirt and falling out in clumps, and that was just what Arthur could see from a distance and in dim lighting. Perhaps the sight should have brought him some sort of satisfaction but in that moment, it was hard to see anything but the young man he had known who had trained and stayed up late with him, plotting how they would someday be on top of the world. Somehow the warm memories froze him.  
At first Francis thought Arthur was a hallucination. He looked up when he felt no blow and heard no sound of food and water being set down for him to attempt to stomach. He had been so starving but could not eat no matter what sort of a scrap was thrown his way. Not like food would have helped him while the stomachs of his people turned for lack of bread. He had hallucinated Arthur before, in his fevered state. Sometimes he was there to lead him to the guillotine in front of a crowd of his own people, sometimes he was there to hold him and feed him warm chicken broth, but this was the first time he had knelt before him and touched his face as if he were made of glass “Arthur?” he asked because for once he could truly feel his hand as if it were something solid.   
“Yes, frog?” was the response, whispered so the walls wouldn’t hear the tenderness that laced his voice. Francis put his hand over Arthur’s and was instantly pulled close to his chest where he let out a jagged sob. He had tried to keep a dignified air about him as best he could for the past months but one good thing about Arthur is that he didn’t have to worry what he thought of him, he already knew. No one spoke again for awhile. Francis had no idea how long, his sense of time had gone out the window when the new calendar had been introduced but he had stopped caring when it became impossible to be one with the people and tied to the rulers at once, the way a nation was supposed to be. He was seen as nobility and he had no way of explaining who he truly was, his time spent with each class, the way he had known every single monarch intimately, or even the pain he felt when his peasants were starving and how he did everything he could to prevent it. But Arthur would understand. For what it was worth, he would be understand.   
“All they see are my trips to Versaille. They know nothing of my stays in Provence” he murmured only to be shushed. Arthur had been through two civil wars and he knew what it meant to be very much a member of two groups that hated one another  
“I can’t help you, you know.” Arthur said in a pleading tone. After all the hatred he had been feeling, he forgot how close the feeling was to love when it came to Francis. He prayed to the god that somehow both united and separated the two nations that Francis would understand what he meant.  
“Then stay tonight” Francis whispered desperately. One more night in the cell was fine as long as he was not alone. If he went to London, a thing that couldn’t even be suggested in a time like this, he would be put in a soft bed and taken care of but he would have no idea what was going on in his dear sweet Paris. He would be just as bad as the emigres who refused to accept the revolution and only made matters worse. And yet who would house a perceived noble in Paris? Arthur nodded in understanding and stroked what was left of his hair. This cell was probably going to be his home until some solution came to pass. It wasn’t anywhere near nighttime but he would stay. He would hold him and whisper reassurances until morning and then he would simply have to pray he could make it through this disaster and they could be bitter rivals again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vive La France. Like please. He might be actually fucking dying here. It's okay tho. Napoleon will be here soon and these kids can hate each other freely

**Author's Note:**

> Like comment and subscribe for more content ;)


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